


I’ll Be Your Slaughterhouse

by Island_of_Reil



Series: Unrequited [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Beating, F/M, Sexual Fantasy, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You wanted to tear me to pieces. You wanted to fuck me to pieces. No difference. Even if titans can’t fuck.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ll Be Your Slaughterhouse

**Author's Note:**

> [Kinkmeme prompt.](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/13546.html?thread=8449002#cmt8449002)
> 
> The fic title comes from [Richard Siken’s poem “Wishbone.”](http://www.colorado.edu/journals/standards/V7N1/MMM/siken.html)

I smelled your true nature when I first met you in training. After a while I began to smell something else: want. Two kinds of heat, rippling off your skin and coiling together as they rose. Like the vines from the lovers’ graves in some old backwoods tale Sasha told us one night in the girls’ barracks. Vigorous life, feeding off violent death.

You liked it when I picked you up and threw you. I’m not asking, I’m stating. You didn't insist on switching places with me _only_ because you were driven by the need to hone yourself into the perfect weapon. I felt your lips twitch against my palm, watched you quiver when my hips arched into yours.

You landed with your face in the dirt and your ass in the air, and you liked that it was in front of everybody. Even Mikasa. Especially Mikasa. Someone else marking you for her own. Someone she for once wasn’t allowed to rescue you from. When I swooped down to pin you, your pupils were huge. When I landed astride you, I could feel the tip of your cock, under your trousers, prodding my ass.

I wasn’t there for your trial, but I heard about it. Everyone heard about it. Your new commanding officer, the one who carved me up later on, kicking you bloody in front of hundreds of people. Important people. It was hard not to laugh when I heard. Not because it’s funny when you get hurt. But because I could imagine you kneeling there in chains, unable to hide the bulge in your trousers, your pupils dilating to match the black rings coming in around your eyes.

You don’t burn only to cleanse all the evil from the world. You burn to absorb it, to take on all the pain it creates. Remember Armin going on one night at dinner about some forgotten god he read about in that book of his grandfather’s? A god born to shoulder all the wrongs humans commit against one another. To forgive them. Like anyone has a right to forgive something done by another person to a third. Even a god.

But, yeah, that’s you. Well, not entirely. Supposedly that god never had sex, never even wanted it. Not even his mother had sex. Sounded like bullshit to me. But maybe you were dropped into this sewer of a world for a reason.

I don’t get it. I respect it though. Humanity needs someone to clean up after it. Maybe you can blot up a few of its worst examples. I’d say “along with some titans” if that weren’t such a hilariously pointless distinction.

So I don’t regret anything I taught you. Not even when you used it against me. Titans don’t have cunts or cocks, so when you straddled me in the forest there was no telltale hardness pressing into my belly. Not that I needed that as a sign. In human form, you suck up all the pain of the world. In titan form, you dish it out. You wanted to tear me to pieces. You wanted to fuck me to pieces. No difference. Even if titans can’t fuck.

In the forest, it was just me and you. In Stohess, it was me and you and Mikasa and Armin. It was me and you and the entire Survey Corps. It was me and you and the rest of humanity. There was no rage in your fight, no intimacy. It’d have been like fucking in the street instead of fighting in it.

I have no idea how long I’ll spend in the crystal. Maybe weeks, maybe decades. When it finally cracks and falls from around me, will any other titans still walk the earth? Will you still walk it — broader and taller, with the face of a man and not a boy, but the face of a young man still? Because you owe me one last match. I owe you one last kiss of my knuckles against your breastbone, the hot bracket of my thighs around your hips, and making you fall, dark-eyed and open-mouthed, beneath me.


End file.
